


A Superhero in the City

by orphan_account



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Wild Target (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, FML, M/M, What am I doing, bit of blood, minor (evil) character death, various characters from random places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA: Peter flirts with two different people who turn out not to be so different after all. I'm not even going to bother to hide it, that's basically what will happen.<br/>Peter Guillam moonlights as a Superhero in a city where heroes and villains duke it out near-daily. One day, an amoral new Super arrives on the scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Superhero in the City

**Author's Note:**

> So! Instead of working on my WIPs or studying for my APES test on Monday, I decided to write a cracky Superhero!AU. That is also a WIP. FML.  
> Inspired by the X-men, so expect a few nods here and there.  
> Started out, as many of my works do, as an anon to guixonlove on tumblr. For some reason I started writing it in my head and it stuck there.  
> Sucky title suck. Need to change it.  
> Ugh.

Mild-mannered Peter Guillam had a steady office job working for X Corps. His bosses described him as hardworking, quite, calm, and polite. He never committed a crime in his life, unless you count the time when he stole a dollar from his mother's purse as an eight-year-old to give to the homeless guy in front of the store. As far as his co-workers were concerned, he was yet another Random Citizen working, living, and avoiding Villains as much as possible among many.

His co-workers would be very surprised to learn that he was one of the many Supers running around the city, theatrically stopping Villains from destroying the city and robbing banks and other...villain-y stuff. Whatever that constitutes.

By day he was mild-mannered Peter Guillam. By night (and afternoon, and mid-morning, and whenever else he is needed) he was a member of the Circus, feared by villains and Hapless Underlings everywhere.

Like every other superhero group, they abided by the five cardinal Rules that all Supers followed:

One: No killing Supervillains, no matter how many Random Citizens they killed.

Two: One must always wear a costume, complete with a mask or a helmet or a hood or otherwise have a way of concealing your secret identity. Even if you don't have one. Even if everyone and their mother knows your first name, last name, and where you like to shop for bananas.

Three: Guns are uncool. End of story.

Four: Never interrupt someone's monologue unless you have a witty one-liner prepared for the perfect moment.

Five: NO KILLING SUPERVILLAINS.

Of course, there were Rules followed by the villains as well, but since Peter never had the urge to set the city on fire, he never saw the need to pick up the pamphlet from the counselor's office titled  **Villainy and You!** and thus was uninformed of the Rules followed by the villains of the city.

Anyways, he figured he had his life sorted pretty well. He had a nice office job, a fulfilling role in one of the most competent Superhero groups in the city, and possibly country, and while he didn't have a boyfriend he really wasn't looking for someone right at this moment.

Of course, that was when the Universe decided that Peter's life was a little _too_ sorted and shot it to hell.

***

It started with a showdown, the Circus against a certain villain who called himself Striker. Apparently his power was the ability to make things explode by touching them, and he was currently wrecking downtown for no reason other then just because.

Peter sighed and twisted out of the way as a piece of asphalt flew pat him. He brushed some grey dust off his pure white suit, accented with a light sky-blue tie and pocket square that matched with the band of cloth he wore as his mask.

His boss (not the complete manager of the Circus, just of the crew that took care of threats on the field) jogged over. The Chessmaster was honestly getting a bit too old for this, but his tactician's mind had yet to fade. 

"Siluman," he greeted. Peter quirked his lips up. "Let me guess, turn invisible, sneak up behind him, knock him out?"

The Chessmaster shrugged. "You know the drill. But be careful, alright? I don't want to leave the field crew in the hands of the rest of those guys when I retire."

Peter nodded. "I'll be fine, as long as it's Bond and Angel running the distraction and not Q. I can't concentrate with all the bells and whistles he puts on his machines."

"Don't worry, Q's current job is keeping civvy casulties to a minimum. "

Peter gave him a small tilt of his head before closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When he opened them again, Chessmaster was looking amused. "I'll never get used to seeing that," he remarked, addressing Peter's right ear more then his actual face.

Peter didn't bother replying, strolling right towards the middle of the fray, pulling out the bottle of sleeping gas that he kept on him for this very purpose.

He rolled his eyes when Striker started up his monologue. "YOU ARE WEAK! THERE IS POWER THAT BELONGS TO US SUPERS! WE SHOULD BE THE ONES RUNNING THE COUNTRY, DISPLAYING OUR POWERS EVERYDAY INSTEAD OF--"

Thump.

Everyone blinked when Striker hit the ground. A dark pool of red started seeping out of his chest, flowing down the cracks in the asphalt.

A woman started screaming. Someone had killed a Supervillain.

***

The next day, the whole city was in an uproar. A Rule had been broken for the first time in anyone's memory.

Even more intriguing was when the police went through Striker's apartment and found a human skull in the trash can, with a note carved onto a femur clenched between its teeth:  _Striker no striking! Love, the Hunter._

The note was headed by the date of the day exactly a week before Striker's death. Following the message was another date: the date of the deadly showdown. As always, the police were stumped.

Peter was currently sitting in the meeting room of the Circus. Today had been a very bad day: someone was trying to sue X Corps for 'unethical practices', which always lead to bad publicity, his PA had tried to proposition him yet again while offering him a cup of the shittiest coffee he had ever tasted, which lead him to investigating and figuring out that she was trying to climb the corporate ladder by sleeping with him (he was a lawyer, for heaven's sake, he doesn't have a way of promoting her, what was she thinking?) and he had to fire her, which means he will be given yet another PA from the lineup of incompetent interns, and on top of all that it was a Monday.

He snapped out his his slump when Sherlock (real name) slammed the skull and note down on his table and drew in a breath in preparation of displaying his superpower. "Left-handed, probably male, quite clever--he doused the entire thing in perfume, which makes me believe he lives somewhere with a distinct smell he's trying to hide, has resources and the brains to figure out Striker's secret identity and where he lives, it was hand delivered so lock-picking skills. Skull was fake but femur belonged to a deer, so access to someone or somewhere that could supply him replicas and somewhere he could hunt or buy whole deer, mostly likely hunted because the improbable distance from where he made the deadly shot implies sharpshooting skills plus his moniker, the Hunter, implies pride in hunting."

Chessmaster frowned. "Is that it?"

If Sherlock's looks could kill, the Chessmaster wouldn't have to worry about his retirement plans anymore.

However, Sherlock (luckily) did not have a deadly gaze, so the Chessmaster's heart remained beating while he held up a hand. "It's better then nothing. Thank you, Sherlock; the rest of you are dismissed. The only thing we can do right now is to keep our eyes peeled for a new Super in town."

As they stood up and started to leave, Bond grumbled, "Honestly,  _Dora the Explorer_? Bit odd for someone who killed a dude."

Q raised his eyebrow. "Why do you recognize the note as a reference to a children's TV show?"

Peter sighed and walked away from their bickering as fast as he could without looking undignified.

***

Scrolling through the news sites the next day, Peter noticed that many people were questioning what to classify the Hunter--a hero or a villain. On one hand, he had killed a Supervillain and no one else, but on the other,  _he killed a Superviillain._

He was interrupted by a firm knock. "Yes?"

The door opened to reveal a small blond man in a plain white button-up and black slacks, carrying a steaming cup. "My name's Hector Dixon, sir, and I'm the unlucky intern who was assigned as your new PA."

Peter quirked up the corner of his mouth. He liked him already. "Peter Guilllam, as you already know. Why 'unlucky'?"

Dixon grinned. Well, it was more like a flash of his teeth. "Everyone knows PA's have to be very, very good if they don't want to get constantly yelled at. It's not you, it's the job."

"Oh?" Now Peter grin was widening. "Your first test will be to get me a cup of coffee."

Dixon promptly placed the cup he was holding on the desk. Peter blinked at it for a second. Dixon gestured towards it. "It's your coffee, sir."

Peter picked it up and took a cautious sip. Milk, two sugars, just the way he liked it. "How did you-"

He only got a shrug in reply. "Quite easy. I just asked around and made a few educated guesses."

Peter nodded to him. His week was definitely looking up. "Thank you, you passed the first test. I won't yell at you for now."

Dixon grinned again. "Much appreciated, Mr. Guillam, sir."

Peter put down his cup so he could hand him a stack of paper. "Oh please, call me Peter. And would you mind-"

"Photocopies? Certainly." Dixon turned to leave, but he paused. "And in that case, feel free to call me Hector."

Peter took a moment to appreciate Hector's backside as he walked away.

***

When he got home that night, he froze.

A skull was perched on the kitchen table, a long femur and three roses--lavender, orange, and coral--stuck in between its teeth.

Picking up and pulling on the leather gloves that he wore in the wintertime, he eased open the skull's jaw and pulled out the femur to read what was carved on the bone.

  _Don't worry, I won't kill you. You are much too fascinating for that._

But what worried him the most was the crude heart carved underneath the message.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Supers:  
> Siluman: Can make himself invisible. Comes from the Indonesian word for 'invisible', which I got from Google Translate. Would have named him something in French, but the word for 'invisible' in French is 'invisible'. Doesn't work out too well. Doubles as a nod to bulecelup, on tumblr, who is one of the people who got me into this pairing in the first place.  
> Chessmaster: Loosely based on George Smiley. Master tactician.  
> Bond: Based on James Bond. Can make people feel varying degrees of attraction.  
> Angel: Nothing to do with X-men's Angel. Nope. Not at all.  
> Q: Based on Q from 007. Can make machines.  
> Sherlock: Obviously Sherlock Holmes. Power of deduction.  
> Rose Colors, taken from here:  
> Lavender: Love at first sight.  
> Orange: Fascination  
> Coral: Desire


End file.
